


pon de roleplay

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Overstimulation, Roleplay, Weird Nerdy Dirty Talk, abuse of the phrase 'intergalactic wiles' and variations thereof, i'm sorry mr. gorman, likely bordering on some form of crack, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Newt realizes Hermann sort of looks like his favorite Torchwood character. Things rapidly progress from there.





	pon de roleplay

**Author's Note:**

> written for a friend after we had a very lengthy discussion on newt's 100% canon crush on fox mulder, which lead to a very lengthy discussion on newt's definitely 100% canon crush on owen harper. because, i mean, come on.
> 
> this, quite easily, ranks up there for the most absurd thing i've ever written. one day, i will write something serious. today is not that day

It all starts, innocently enough, with Newt taking a sick day.

There’s a strain of cold going around the Shatterdome—nothing debilitating, just bad enough to be a minor inconvenience for day-to-day life—that Newt manages to pick up somehow. To his sheer delight, really. It’s been ages since he’s had a break, and if he has to spend one more day poking at his ancient samples (that are, at this point, mostly useless) he might snap and try to reanimate dead kaiju tissue or clone something or resort to methods that are equally mad scientist-y. It’s like the universe’s finally granted him a valid excuse to lay on his ass, so the headache and constant sneezing are a fair trade-off.

Hermann is surprisingly fussy over the whole thing. He checks in on Newt with texts, brings him breakfast and lunch, frets over his pillows and blankets, promises to leave the lab early so Newt’s not left alone for too long. Newt has a sneaking suspicion Hermann’s just lonely without Newt’s radiant and shining personality working alongside him. He gets free lunch and endless forehead kisses out of it, though, so he’s not complaining. Besides, he loves when Hermann gets cute and sappy like this. It’s a rare phenomenon.

Newt’s original plan was to spend the time Hermann wasn’t skiving off work to play nurse watching _The X-Files_ , but it’s not on Netflix here and he was too lazy to get out of bed and pop in one of the DVDs from his boxset into his disk drive, so he ends up settling on _Torchwood_ , since it’s on Amazon and it’s been ages since he last re-watched it anyway.

And that’s—well—it’s an interesting experience, to say the least, because Newt never really noticed how much Owen looks like Hermann until now. Owen dresses much better and has a much cooler haircut, obviously, but his face, and his build, the same eyes, the same cheekbones, the same wide mouth—it’s a bit uncanny. And, well—so maybe Newt had a bit of a crush on Owen the first time he watched the show, but he was _sixteen_ and discovering the wonders of human sexuality, and Owen was so _hot_ and _badass_ and _tortured_ and fucked _everyone_ , so can a guy be blamed for maybe writing one or two Owen/self-insert OC fanfics? And maybe that crush hasn’t really waned as much as he thought it would in some twenty-odd years.

He _really_ does look like Hermann, actually. And isn’t that a thought? How Hermann would look in jeans, or a leather jacket, or swinging a gun around to point at bad guys—Newt makes his way through a good seven episodes before there’s a key jangling in the lock for the third time that day and Hermann gently pads into the room. Newt pauses his laptop and smiles up at him. “Hi,” he says, “miss me?”

Hermann settles on the edge of the bed, resting his cane against the nightstand, and leans in to kiss his cheek. “Terribly,” he says, and begins unlacing his shoes. “It was far too quiet in the lab without you. I couldn’t get anything done.” He presses the back of one hand to Newt’s forehead to feel his temperature (even though it’s _literally_ only a cold). “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah.” Newt scoots over so Hermann can arrange himself against the pillows next to him. Hermann presses another kiss to his cheek and slips an arm about Newt’s shoulders. He doesn’t get under the covers, though—his leniency with germs and willingness to pick up whatever Newt has doesn’t extend beyond basic coddling.

Newt’s laptop is still open and the show is paused, coincidentally, on a still of Owen. It’s right there. Newt may as well _mention it_. “Hey,” Newt says, and nudges Hermann until he looks at the screen. “Doesn’t that guy kinda look like you?”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “ _Him_? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Dude,” Newt says, because like, come on, “he looks _just like you_. It’s been weirding me out all day.” And, if he’s being completely honest, kinda turning him on too. Not that Hermann needs to know.

Hermann hums, skeptical. “Same coloring, perhaps...”

Newt rolls his eyes, but decides to drop it, because once Hermann’s decided Newt’s wrong about something—minor or not—it takes a fucking miracle to change his mind. “Take off that ugly thing and cuddle with me already,” he says, plucking at Hermann’s sweater vest. “I need some patented Dr. Gottlieb TLC.”

It’s Hermann’s turn to roll his eyes but he more than happily obliges, and Newt shuts his laptop and forgets all about Owen Harper.

  


Except he _doesn’t._

  


Two days later, Newt has a dream. The details are hazy, clouded by adrenaline and heady desire, but Hermann’s there, but he’s in Owen’s clothing, and he’s pointing a gun at Newt, and Newt’s on his knees and tugging down Hermann’s jeans (is it really Hermann, though?) and—

He jerks awake, disoriented, hard and straining inside his boxers, blinking guiltily at Hermann’s sleeping face.

  


It’s just—they look so _similar_ , but they’re such _complete opposites_. Hermann’s so buttoned up, stiff, repressed even, and—and no one can blame Newt for being a little into what he might be if he wasn’t, you know? For wanting Hermann to just sort of—let loose. Wear some tighter clothes, maybe. Exert more control, specifically control over Newt.

That’s what he tells himself when he makes a habit of staying up long past when Hermann has already fallen asleep, laptop brightness turned nearly all the way down and headphones plugged in, binging his way through the rest of season two like it’s a dirty secret. It’s what he tells himself the first morning he waves a mildly bemused Hermann off to breakfast without him and hops in the shower instead, leaning his head against the wall while water runs over him, thinking about Hermann pointing a gun at him, Hermann shoving him up against a tree, Hermann in leather and hissing in his ear and fucking him hard and—

He comes after only stroking himself three times, shuddering and gasping out a name that could be _Hermann_ , or it could be _Owen_ , and he thinks _oh, no._

 

————————

 

They’re having dinner together a week later—a week full of lonely breakfasts for Hermann and furtive jerking off sessions in the shower for Newt—when Hermann sets his fork down and clears his throat. Newt stops eating. He and Hermann have a tendency to stay pretty late at the lab, which means that—like most weeks—the mess is mostly deserted tonight, except for a few straggler j-techs. It suits their admittedly anti-social natures just fine: less forced small talk with strangers. It also means that they can typically talk and argue about whatever they want through eating without annoying anyone.

Tonight, though—Newt has a sinking feeling he knows what they’re going to talk about.

“Have I—?” Hermann swallows, unsure of himself, and he starts again. He reaches out across the table, cautiously, and places a hand atop Newt’s. “Newton. You know I—care, very deeply for you. Very deeply.”

Newt nods slowly. “Uh. Yeah?” Hermann’s only used the l-word a few times—the first time they fucked and Newt nearly fell off the bed, the morning after they moved in together, the time he caught Newt stealing one of his sweaters to curl up in—but Newt’s never doubted that’s how Hermann feels. Likewise, Newt’s never doubted that’s how he feels about Hermann.

“It’s just—well, we haven’t,” Hermann flicks his eyes down at the table, and Newt has to lean in to hear him speak, “made love, lately, and I was worried I—upset you, somehow.” He flushes, and adds quickly, “I don’t _require_ it, of course, I’m not trying to imply—I just miss being intimate with you, Newton.” He squeezes Newt’s hand.

Newt can’t quite bring himself to meet Hermann’s eyes, either. Out of mortification. Self-disgust, maybe. In retrospect, Hermann’s awkward and distinctly Hermann-esque attempts at seduction throughout the past week should’ve been obvious, but it’s only now they hit Newt like a ton of bricks: making pointed remarks about feeling energetic when they’d retire to their bedroom, complimenting Newt and touching him a bit more frequently, offering to skip breakfast and join him in his shower (yeah, that one probably should’ve been a giveaway). He feels quite possibly like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. What kind of guy blows off his boyfriend to lust over a _fictional character_?

He can fix this. He’s a scientist; he solves problems for a living. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I’ve just been—stressed. But, like, right now?” Newt squeezes his hand in return, throws in a little eyebrow waggle for good measure. “Right now, I wanna go back to our room.”

Hermann turns a furious shade of scarlet. It’s cute.

They do go back to their room, and Newt makes good on his innuendo almost immediately by pushing Hermann onto the bed and giving him what is (in his opinion) a _stellar_ blowjob, despite the heavy weight of guilt he still feels in his stomach. Hermann’s enjoying it at first, making the happy, breathy little sounds Newt loves to draw from him and petting Newt’s hair, but he seems to catch on after a while that there’s something resting on Newt’s mind.

“Newton,” he says, and Newt hums, hoping to distract him, but Hermann is tugging him up and off his cock and forcing Newt to look him in the eyes. He looks confused. A little hurt, maybe, and if that doesn’t make Newt feel _worse_. “Newton, are you sure you’re alright? You’re usually much more—” The blush returns and he trails off, but Newt knows what he means. Blowing Hermann gets Newt almost as wound up as Hermann gets from the experience; at this point, Newt would usually be making just as much noise and trying to get himself off through his corduroys. Hermann brushes a hand across his jaw softly.

Newt sighs, and sits back on his heels. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve just. Been distracted, lately. Nothing you’ve done!” he adds hurriedly, and then finishes lamely, “I’m sorry.”

Hermann is frowning again, much more deeply this time. “Newton,” he repeats.

“Let me just—” Newt tries to lean back in, but Hermann shakes his head. He pats the spot on the bed next to him, instead, and Newt takes it, shamefaced, and Hermann puts a hand on his knee. It’s comforting.

“Darling,” he says, in the voice he uses that makes Newt melt, “what’s on your mind?”

Relationships are all about communication, Newt reminds himself. Still: there’s not really a way to make this sound not totally embarrassing. “This is going to sound totally embarrassing,” Newt says, “but have you ever, uh, considered—roleplaying?”

Hermann blinks. Whatever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t this. “Roleplaying?” he echoes faintly. “Haven’t we already?”

Newt suddenly and quite vividly recalls the Shatterdome Dungeons and Dragons campaign Tendo tried to run two years back, that had bombed magnificently after Newt and Hermann kept deliberately sabotaging each other (and, by extension, the rest of the group) after some minor petty disagreement about Newt’s latest hypothesis. It was not, admittedly, Newt’s finest hour. “Not that kind of roleplaying,” Newt says (God, Hermann’s such a nerd, what a cutie), “but like, uh. Sexy roleplay. Like, dressing up and shit. Pretending to be, uh, people we’re not.”

“ _Oh_.” Hermann is silent. Thoughtful. “I...can’t say I’ve considered it,” he says slowly, “but is this something that you would like to try?”

Newt nods quickly.

“Then try we shall.” Hermann smiles at him, pats his knee. “Is that all that was bothering you?”

“Not _exactly_ ,” Newt begins, and he looks at the floor again, “this is where it gets _more_ embarrassing. You remember that, that guy on that TV show I said looked like you?”

“I suppose…?”

“Would you want to, you know,” Newt gives a little shoulder jerk. “Pretend to, like, be him?” The rest spills out before he can help himself. “It’s just, you’d be so _hot_ , and it’s been bothering me for _days_ , like I’ve jerked off at _least_ six times over it, I probably shouldn’t have said that aloud, but this would totally help me get over it, and I could make it fun for you, too, I—”

Hermann, to his credit, only looks mildly scandalized. He does look moderately more offended, however. “You’ve been—” he splutters, “—you could’ve _told_ me!”

“That I was jerking off to a fictional character?”

Hermann winces. “You could’ve put it in—different terms.” He inches a bit closer to Newt. “I _am_ your partner, Newton. It’s not exactly a chore to help you, so to speak. And—I do,” he smiles, “happen to derive a certain amount of pleasure from seeing you aroused.”

He’s so earnest, so sweet, that Newt can’t help but lean in and give him a little peck. “Dude, I love you _so_ much.” And then another little peck. And then Hermann’s hand is sliding up the back of his head and holding Newt in place, and then Newt’s opening his mouth, and, well.

 

————————

 

Neither of them bring it up again for another few days. Work gets demanding, and Hermann’s distracted and Newt’s finally got new samples to work with, so by the time they check out of the lab these nights they’re both too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Newt doesn’t forget about it, though; if anything, he thinks about it more. Enough for another awkward wet dream, at any rate.

They’re eating dinner Friday night—mess practically deserted once more—when Hermann gives Newt a look reminiscent of the one he wore during their last Talk here. Newt immediately gives him his full attention. “Newton,” Hermann announces, “the weekend begins tomorrow.”

Newt nods, not daring to get his hopes up. “It...does.”

“Would you like to try,” Hermann begins, and Newt cuts him off.

“ _Yes_ ,” and he nods again, much more frantically. “Oh my God. Please.”

Hermann folds his hands on the table, awkwardly, as if he can’t figure out what to do with them. “You’ll have to—guide me, of course. I’m not quite clear on the, ah, specifics of the character. And I’ll need the correct clothing, I suppose.”

Newt is absolutely _not_ popping a boner under the table right now thinking about all this. He shifts his legs a bit further apart in a way that, hypothetically, would make it easier to sit with a boner. “Dude, I am on _top_ of this,” he says. “Holy shit.” Hermann sleeps in late on Saturdays, so Newt will definitely have enough time to run out and get anything they need. Including jeans. Oh, God, Hermann would look great in skinny jeans.

His eyes glaze over; Hermann notices and prods him. “Finish your dinner,” he says, flushing, “you hedonist.”

Newt grins.

 

————————

 

“I feel ridiculous.”

They’ve dimmed the lights in their bedroom and Newt’s ducked into the bathroom while Hermann changes; not out of any sense of propriety, but because he doesn’t trust himself to not prematurely jump Hermann on the spot. He’s slipping into the getup for his own role, anyway. “No way, dude, I bet you look _super hot_ ,” Newt calls over his shoulder, as he messes up his hair a bit. Just enough for an I-just-had-sex vibe. He debates taking off his glasses—they don’t make him feel particularly sexy—but decides against it. Hermann likes the way they look on him, anyway.

He can feel Hermann’s impatience radiating through the wall. “Are you nearly ready?”

“Yeah. One sec.” He tousles his hair a bit more, gives himself finger-guns in the mirror, pushes the door open.

Hermann’s standing awkwardly on the other side of the room, hunched in self-consciously on himself. He’s in jeans and a plain cotton t-shirt that Newt bought him (and, God, was he right about Hermann looking good in skinny jeans), Newt’s leather jacket (the sleeves are a bit too short); his hair is a bit spiked up (hair gel also courtesy of Newt). He looks—Newt’s mouth goes dry. Newt’s, also, most definitely hard already.

Before Newt can say something like _take me immediately you handsome fool_ , Hermann’s eyebrows fly up when he takes in what Newt’s wearing. “ _Newton_ ,” he hisses, “what on—?”

“It’s for _my_ character,” Newt says gleefully, spreading his arms a bit. Okay, well—not strictly a set character, but he’s going for a sexy-slutty-humanoid-alien-with-seduction-powers vibe (there was totally an episode about that, probably, maybe), which is why he’s in a semi-sheer pink robe over boxers and not much else. “Dig it?”

Hermann makes a choking noise and clutches his cane a bit tighter.

“I almost bought panties for the occasion,” Newt says with a grin. It’s a complete lie, but watching Hermann go red is always a spectacular sight. And besides, it has the desired effect: Hermann’s eyes jump lower, and he notices the obvious bulge in Newt’s boxers, and then his eyes snap up. “You look _hot_ ,” Newt adds, with a wolf-whistle. “Like—I almost just want to cut to the chase and bang _right now_ , dude.”

“Highly tempting,” Hermann murmurs, gaze drifting back to the splashes of color visible through the fabric across Newt’s chest, his arms. “What’s our, ah, scenario, so to speak?”

“I,” Newt says, “am an intergalactic _sex fiend_ , baby.”

“An intergalactic— _what_?”

“ _Sex fiend_. Barbarella style. With sexy alien seduction powers.” Newt gives the biggest, cheesiest wink he can muster. Hermann looks torn between stunned disbelief and outright laughter. “ _You’re_ trying to hunt me down for Torchwood so I can’t lure in anymore unsuspecting humans with my super-sexy intergalactic wiles.”

Hermann does snort at that. “Mm. And I suppose I fall victim to those _intergalactic wiles_.” He’s still ogling Newt through the robe.

“Obviously,” Newt says. “And then, of course, you have your way with me.”

“Not the other way around?” Hermann asks, amused, mouth curling up.

“Nope,” Newt winks again, and puts his hands on his hips in such a way that his little sheer number is stretched just a bit more tightly across his chest. He can hear Hermann’s breath hitch from across the room. “I’m yours for the taking, Hermann. Or. Dr. Harper. Go _crazy_.”

Hermann’s eyes are drifting lower again. Newt should really consider keeping the robe as a fashion staple. “And what do I, ah, call you?”

Newt loosens the belt a bit and gives a smug smile. “Call me Newt.”

  


“ _Stop_.”

Newt’s sprawled on their bed against the pillows, legs splayed, hands folded behind his head, and he smiles lazily up at a stern-looking Hermann. Hermann’s using the voice he usually reserves for when he’s pissed at Newt for fucking something up in the lab, and man, if that doesn’t do something for him now. Newt sits up slowly, stretching elaborately. “You’ve finally tracked me down, Dr. Harper,” he says. “Congratulations.” He’s laying it on thick, and it’s _fun._

Hermann takes a step back. “Get up,” he says, warily, and also looking somewhat lost. “I’m taking you back to Torchwood headquarters and—and locking you up. Ah. Immediately.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Newt says. He stands up just as slowly, letting one side of the robe slip off his shoulder. He struts up to Hermann—he’s always liked to put on a bit of a show—and feels more than a little pleased with the way Hermann’s eyeing him hungrily. He drapes his arms over Hermann’s shoulders, bats his eyelashes. “These tattoos go _all_ the way down, you know,” he says, a mere few inches away from Hermann’s lips.

Hermann’s eyes are hooded; he nearly reaches out for Newt’s hips, but falters, holds himself back. “It won’t work on me,” he says, forcing a scowl, and Newt sneaks a hand down to palm Hermann a bit through those jeans; he’s nowhere near as far along as Newt, but he’s getting there. Hermann makes a wonderful sound.

“I think it already has,” Newt says, and he drags Hermann down for an open-mouthed kiss.

Hermann drops his cane and _does_ grab his hips, then, angles Newt forward, sucks Newt’s lower lip into his mouth, and oh, it’s so good, and Newt rubs himself against that denim when Hermann’s tongue slides against his. He loves Hermann’s mouth, those oddly charming wide lips, and it’s a goddamn shame when he has to pull away for air. Hermann’s looking at him, pupils blown, and Newt drags Hermann’s hand down to cup him through the sheer fabric, the thin cotton. “Fuck me,” he breathes, rolling his hips forward. He had dialogue planned, some really good shit, but he’s getting lost in how overwhelming it all is.

Hermann kisses him again, rough and messy, squeezing him gently, and Newt can feel the leather jacket against his bare skin where the robe’s ridden up and _moans_. The vibrations make Hermann shudder. “Yes,” he says, sounding—as Newt’s pleased to note—just as desperate as Newt feels. “Let’s—” He shifts some of his weight to Newt to make up for his lack of cane, walks Newt backwards and backwards until they’re falling on the bed. Newt’s robe slips open more, exposing his chest, and the juxtaposition of nudity with Hermann’s layers—he arches his back, grips at Hermann’s gelled up hair. And the _gel_ , oh _God_ , “Oh my God,” Newt moans, and grips it harder while Hermann rolls his hips down, he really _does_ look just like—

“Shouldn’t you,” he gasps, when Hermann starts kissing and biting at his neck, and Newt can’t stop running his hands through his hair, “shouldn’t you _restrain me_? I’m—a threat to society. I’m. _Oh_ ,” Hermann slides a hand down his leg, “ _Owen_ —”

Hermann startles a bit at the name (and the request, probably), his kisses stilling. “Restrain you?”

“ _Yes_.” Newt grinds his hips up, moaning helplessly at the idea of being at Hermann’s complete mercy. “Use my—uh—use my _belt_ —”

Hermann looks mildly bewildered but nods, slipping his hands down to the belt holding Newt’s robe together. It’s as soft and sheer as the rest of it. He undoes it easily and tugs it free; the robe slides open, and Newt quickly pulls his arms out of it so he can continue messing with Hermann’s hair. There’s a large wet spot on the front of Newt’s boxers from where he’s been furiously leaking precome, and Hermann sucks in a deep breath at the sight. “Can you,” he begins, “can you, ah, lift up your—?”

“You have to,” Newt says, voice reaching a bit of a whine, and he grinds up even harder against Hermann’s jeans, and the fabric of his shorts is so thin he can feel every inch of roughness against the head of his cock. “I’m an, uh, an intergalactic fiend, remember? I’m a—” the zipper on the jacket is cold against his chest, and when he moves _just_ so it brushes against his nipples, and it’s good, it’s good, he feels _dirty_ , so he _maybe_ gets a little carried away, “—a _space slut_ , you gotta—”

Color rises high on Hermann’s cheeks. He nods, reaching up and tugging Newt’s hands from his ( _spiky_ ) hair and then presses them down above Newt’s head. His fingers are clumsy, but he manages to tie the silky belt in a loose knot around Newt’s wrists. Just enough that Newt can’t get free without a little effort. Newt whines again. “Is that—” Hermann clears his throat. He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say; in retrospect, Newt should’ve made him watch, like, at least _one_ episode. Hermann leans in close again, lips brushing Newt’s ear, and Newt nearly shudders. “Justice has finally come for you,” he says, voice low, “you, ah, fiend.”

“Justice isn’t the only one that’ll be coming,” Newt snickers, breathlessly, and Hermann looks, for a moment, once again as though he might dissolve into laughter, but he fixes the stern look back on his face, and then he’s sliding his hand lower, and lower, and he’s rubbing his thumb hard over the wet spot, and Newt’s head hits the pillow with an audible thump. “What kind of— _oh_ —prisoner gets _this_ kind of treatment?”

Hermann tugs down Newt’s boxers and tosses them off the bed, and the robe follows a moment after. He runs his hand up Newt’s inner thigh, taking extra care to rub the little crease by his pelvis, and hums in lieu of answering. Newt’s hips jerk up again of their own accord, and he nearly cries out again at the sensation of denim without the cotton barrier. “Dr. Harper,” he moans, mock-scandalized, and he feels electricity rush through him just by saying the name, “is this _ethically sound_?”

“Alas,” Hermann says, and his lips are twitching up, “I’ve been entrapped by your wiles.”

Newt strains at the bonds around his wrists with exaggerated flair and parts his legs. Hermann’s eyes dart down. “Guess I’m yours for the taking, then,” Newt breathes, and flutters his eyelashes once more.

Hermann takes all of two seconds to fumble around on the side table for their bottle of lube and pour some onto his hand. While he waits for it to warm, he slides his other hand under Newt’s ass, cupping one cheek, squeezing it gently. “You’re quite a lovely specimen of alien,” Hermann says, without breaking his straight face, “very handsome. And soft.” He punctuates it with a harder squeeze, and then kisses Newt’s throat. “I daresay the most handsome one I’ve ever seen.”

“You, uh,” Newt says, breathlessly, “you go around fucking a lot of aliens?”

This is what does Hermann in, it seems, and he finally breaks; he slumps on top of Newt and dissolves into the cutest set of giggles, which drives Newt into giggling too, and then they’re both outright shaking with laughter.

“The things I _do_ for you,” Hermann wheezes against his neck, “you ridiculous man. You realize, of course, this is _completely_ absurd.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Newt says with a grin. “Maybe I’m not the _only_ intergalactic sex fiend here.”

Hermann snorts. “Oh, hush.” He kisses Newt’s collarbone, sliding the hand on his ass down to stroke the inside of his thigh, and Newt whines again. His arousal, momentarily forgotten, hits him full force and he pushes his hips upwards against Hermann’s. Hermann rubs his inner thigh more vigorously, and Newt eyes the lube still on his other hand.

“Are you gonna—” he begins.

Hermann inches down his body, kissing his chest, and then sits up once he’s settled between Newt’s legs. He gently angles one of Newt’s knees upward. “I’ve been so ensnared by your otherworldly powers of seduction,” Hermann declares, “I simply cannot help myself.”

“Uh-huh,” Newt breathes, eyeing up the line of Hermann’s cock in his jeans. He knows Hermann’s dirty-talk is a joke, at this point, but Newt’s fully back on board after those few little touches so it’s more than working for him. “Keep—uh—keep talking.”

Hermann hasn’t gotten the memo; he still seems to think Newt’s treating it as a joke, too. “ _Newt_ ,” he says, with over-exaggerated seriousness, running his fingers down and down, stroking the underside of his knee, and Newt’s twitching into his touch and whimpering, “I am going to—to _fuck_ you so hard you can never—”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Newt chokes on a cry, hips jerking up, and Hermann colors when he finally realizes the effect he’s having and shuts his mouth.

Hermann’s never been one to prolong things unnecessarily, especially not when he stands to gain something from it too, so he preps Newt quickly—which Newt is grateful for, because he’s not sure how much longer he can hold himself back. “You really _have_ fantasized about this,” Hermann muses, intrigued, as he’s moving three long, elegant fingers in and out of Newt’s ass, and Newt nearly screams. “I’ve never seen you this—aroused.”

“Fuck me,” Newt begs, as Hermann twists his fingers, “now, please, oh my God, oh—” Hermann pulls them out and makes to shrug off the jacket, but Newt gasps out “ _No_ , no, leave it on, and the—the jeans—” Surprise flits across Hermann's face, but he nods shakily and tugs down the jeans and his briefs just enough to pull out his cock; he adds a little more lube to his hand, strokes himself a few times, and then he’s settling carefully on his bad leg, spreading Newt’s legs just a bit wider, lifting his hips to get a better angle and then—

The denim rubs against his inner thighs when Hermann bottoms out, and he must be _hot_ in that jacket his hair is damp with sweat, and Newt is vaguely aware of the high, incoherent whines he’s letting out. Hermann’s framed above him, breathing hard as he waits for Newt to adjust, and in the dim lighting he really _could_ be Owen Harper— _Fuck me_ ,” he begs again, and Hermann pulls out and thrusts back in, groaning softly, and that’s it, that’s all Newt needs, he’s arching his back and straining against the belt and shrieking out a name that’s decidedly _Owen_ and not _Hermann_ and coming, completely untouched, so hard he might see stars.

He’s breathing hard, shaking, bright red, and after a few minutes realizes Hermann’s gaping at him. He’s still buried to the hilt in Newt, completely hard. “I don’t know,” Hermann says, “whether I should be offended or not. Or, perhaps, comment on your endurance.” He _tsks_ , moves as if to pull out, but Newt makes an urgent noise.

“Keep going,” he pants.

Hermann blinks, looks down. There’s a mess of come all over the shirt Newt bought him, some on the jeans. “But you’ve already—”

“I wanna be so overstimulated I cry, dude,” Newt insists, and he rocks up and whimpers. It’s too much too soon _._ He loves it. He rocks up again. “ _Yeah_.”

“Oh—” Hermann’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth drops open and he rocks in once, twice, and Newt keeps rocking up to meet him because he needs _more_ , it’s not _enough_ , the gentleness _hurts._

“Go,” Newt chokes out, “go faster, oh my God, oh—”

Hermann angles Newt up higher, grips at his thighs with fingers like vices, speeds up his pace until he’s fucking deeper, harder, and Newt’s writhing beneath him and whimpering, high and loud. He's getting hard again, impossibly, and he wonders if he has it in him to come again; he thinks he might, because the zipper teeth on the coat are still dragging against his nipples and the denim’s still chafing and it’s all too _good_.

“Newt,” Hermann moans quietly, and he starts running the fingers of one hand through Newt’s hair, and then rakes his nails down Newt’s chest. He buries his face in the skin of Newt’s neck while he works his hips furiously, breathing hard, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses. Newt opens his mouth soundlessly when Hermann takes his cock in hand, using Newt’s drying come for lube and stroking him alongside his thrusts. “You should—” Hermann stammers, between pants, “you should see how you look right now.”

Newt bares more of his throat for Hermann to kiss. “Uh-huh?”

“Very— _oh_ —” Hermann swears, fucking into him erratically, and then he’s gasping Newt’s name as he comes. He jerks Newt faster, gracelessly, and then Newt’s coming, too, for the second time that day, orgasm yanked from him like something painful, tears streaming from his eyes, and he feels incredible.

Hermann rests on top of him while he evens his breathing and Newt’s shaking stops, petting Newt’s hair and whispering soft nonsense in Newt’s ear. “Newton, dearest,” he calls Newt, “darling, darling,” and he’s untying Newt’s wrists and rubbing them gently with his thumbs and kissing the soft skin. Newt’s floating too high to register much of anything, but he feels more kisses across his face, brushing gently on the tip of his nose, his lips. “Was that—good?” Hermann sounds sheepish. Embarrassed. That won’t do at all.

“Hermann,” Newt slurs, “you are the goddamn best.” Hermann laughs, rolls off of him, and Newt finally gives into exhaustion and shuts his eyes. He can hear Hermann stripping out of the jacket, the jeans, the shirt, hears him make a little noise of disgust when he realizes what a mess they likely all are. (Newt will volunteer do the laundry tomorrow, as a thank you.) Then Hermann’s nudging him on his side, curling up against him. He kisses the nape of Newt’s neck, nuzzles the back of his head.

“You make,” he says, draping an arm across Newt’s chest, “a very alluring alien.”

Newt burrows back against him, enjoying the warmth of bare skin on bare skin. “You make a very alluring alien hunter,” he means to say, but he’s already dozing off and it comes out in mumbles. Hermann hugs him closer, hums happily, kisses his neck some more. He probably got the gist of it, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> ur welcome
> 
> find me on tumblr at hermannsthumb or on twitter at hermanngaylieb


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